


A Day at a Time

by mechanicalUniverses



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Birthday Presents, Birthdays, Canon-typical swearing, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Other, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Polygamy, Some NSFW humor, They just love each other a lot, church is a gay mess but that makes wash a flaming dumpster of a gay mess, mentions of past trauma, nothing saucy tho fear not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 05:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13093293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechanicalUniverses/pseuds/mechanicalUniverses
Summary: Tucker and Church need to find something for Wash's birthday.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peteor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peteor/gifts).



> hey friends! this fic is for the rvb secret santa that happened this month, and it's my first one evee! i am super pleased that i got to participate. thanks to the mods on the red vs. blue secret santa [blog](http://redvsbluesecretsanta.tumblr.com/) for hosting such a lovely event!
> 
> and to peteor; hope you like your present! happy holidays! ♪(^∇^*)

“Your thinking face is hella funny.”

Church blinks. The code in front of him suddenly refocuses, the blinking error message a blatant reminder of his task at hand. He doesn’t even remember what he got distracted by. Tucker is leaning against the doorway with a smirk playing across his face.

“What?”

“It’s all—” Tucker puts a fist under his jaw and narrows his eyes, frowning slightly. “‘Muh-muh, I’m Leonard Church, I always have an entire branch up my ass and—’” Church swivels around in his chair to face the other direction. “Okay, well—I mean, I _was_ gonna say it was cute, like uber fucking cute, ‘cause you your face gets all scrunched up ‘n shit, but I guess you don’t care.”

Church slowly turns the chair back again with some-what pink cheeks. “Oh. Well, uh, in that case, keep insulting my face.”

“Nope,” Tucker said, popping the _p_. He sighs dramatically and leans back against the wall, then slides all the way to the floor. “I already know what you really think of me.”

Suddenly, the sound of a door slamming shut echoes through the house and a familiar voice calls out, “Anyone home?”

“In my room!” Church called back. A few seconds later, Wash appears in the doorway, satchel still hooked around his shoulder and hair slightly mussed.

“Hey,” he greeted. He glances down. “Why is Tucker on the floor?”

“‘Cause _he_ ”—Tucker dramatically pointed an accusatory finger at Church—“is a grade-a asshole.”

“What? Is that supposed to be news?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Church huffed and crossed his arms with a little more force than strictly necessary. “God, is a roll of toilet paper all I am to you guys? Because you’re always wiping your shit on me?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Of course not,” Tucker said with mock seriousness. “You’re our verbal punching bag. That’s way different.”

“Jee,” Church said with as much sarcasm as he could, “I am clearly. So. Loved. Like, seriously, I can just feel it outpouring from you every time one of you opens your mouth. I’m practically drowning in it. Really, it’s great. Fantastic.”

“Okay, that’s laying it on a little heavy, even for you.”

“Me? Are you sure? Maybe you’re thinking of someone else.” Church turns back to his computer. Unfortunately, no supernatural being had come down from the heavens and fixed his problems for him. So he was being forced to deal with them on his own, like some sort of _heathen._

He hears a few footsteps, feels a hand on his side, then Wash’s voice in his ear. “You know that isn’t true,” he said sternly, “right?”

“I dunno, babe,” Tucker chipped in unhelpfully from the floor. Church turns his head just enough to see Wash glower at him. The glare has no effect on Tucker, who merely asks, “Hey Wash, whaddya want for your birthday? And don’t say ‘you don’t have to get anything’ ‘cause that’s a load of horseshit,” he added in a hurry.

Wash stares at him for a few beats, then shakes his head. “I really can’t take you seriously from down there,” he muttered. He reaches an arm down, and pulls him up effortlessly. Tucker looks ecstatic as he bumps against Wash’s chest a little bit. Church would be lying if he didn’t feel a little jealous of him; Tucker was the perfect height to be tucked up against Wash and his, in Church’s professional opinion, truly sublime pectorals. At least, perfect compared to Church’s slightly chubby, unfairly short frame that always left him feeling a little crushed between the two.

He still wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

“I—” Wash pauses and clears his throat. “I don’t know. I just want to be with you two.”

“Fuck,” said Tucker. “That was gay.”

“That was sort of the point.”

“‘Kay,” Church broke in, “I love y’all and shit, but I still kind of need to, you know”—Church gestures to the monitor, which is still blinking that grating error message—“work?” He was definitely not asking them to leave so he could think about his boyfriends birthday that he was most certainly not panicking about because he swore it was on his calendar and there was no way it was so soon, but what if it was, and he was just the worlds shittiest boyfriend, like, the _shittiest._

Wash straightens up.  “Right,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I’d be mad if it was someone else.”

Wash smiles fondly at him, then takes Tucker lightly by the wrist and leads him out. Once the door clicks shut, the room is... Quiet. Obviously. There’s no one else here. It’d be a little strange if it wasn’t quiet. Church rolls his eyes at himself.

Well. It’s _almost_ quiet. There’s a certain buzz to it, like the walls still held the echoes of their chatter and laughter in. The quiet whirring of his computers fans were just loud enough to overtake it. He can just make out the tinny music still playing from his ear buds. It fades out for a few seconds, then starts playing the next song.

Church sighs and slumps resignedly back into his chair. Fuck this stupid piece of shit code.

By the time Church gets over procrastinating in every form he can think of and actually unearths the bug, he’s just about ready to claw out his eyes and erase any memory he has of neon-green text and black background.

His mind drifts to the bed, where it’s warm and the comforters are almost as good as Wash’s hugs when he’s in the mood for them, and Tucker is probably already asleep and hogging all of the blankets, and Wash himself probably is still up, reading a book until his mind settles down enough—

Wash. Birthday. _Shit._

Church leans back in his chair. His spine pops in a very unhealthy sounding manner, but it kind of jolts him awake, so whatever.

He knew Wash didn’t like extravagant things. He didn’t _dis_ like them, persay, but it was clear he was much happier when they were out doing things that let them be close. Things like curling up on the couch to watch a movie, or a walk-slash-hike in some woods, or _camping_ for some godawful reason. Church didn’t really get it (especially camping) but that was fine. Besides, sitting in stiff suits at a huge table that made it hard for them to just be close to each other inside of a fancy restaurant with judgmental, snobby people and even _more_ judgmental, snobby waiters didn’t really do it for any of them, anyway. Especially not Wash.

So. Something at home. With all three of them. That was a start.

Church yawns and puts his head down on his arms. Gifts were going to be frustrating. Not only did Wash insist on nothing or things that couldn’t just belong to him personally, but whenever Church had tried to find gifts in the past, it never felt... Right. Like it couldn’t truly be ‘for Wash’ without it feeling like just another piece of junk to throw at someone and say, “Here, have this thing you’re going to put on a shelf to collect dust, it’s supposed to be thoughtful because it’s expensive.”

What Church was looking for as something that could really represent something about their relationship. Oddly enough, it’s difficult to find something that means ‘I am so fucking proud of you and I’m so happy that you exist and that you care about me’ without sounding like an overenthusiastic father of a clueless middle-schooler or just plain desperate.

He groans loudly and palms his eyes hard enough to see spots. He watches them fade out of his vision as he thinks about how much better Tucker was at this. Better at just people in general. Maybe he would be able to find something based off of Wash’s vague directions.

He wanders off to the dark bedroom, mind slowly spinning like an abandoned merry-go-round. The scene he comes across is almost exactly as he predicted. He says goodnight to Wash, rudely wrenches some of the covers away from Tucker, then he climbs in and closes his eyes, thoughts chasing each other like a dog to its tail.

* * *

 

When Church wakes up the next morning, he’s so tangled in the covers he’s damn near close to strangling himself. He notices dully that Wash has already gone to work. He carefully untangles himself, trying not to jostle Tucker too much. He grunts as he pushes himself into a crumpled but still technically upright position. The moment he does so, Tucker’s arm flops across his stomach and weakly tugs at him.

“Stay,” comes Tucker’s murmured, sleepy voice. “Jus’ a lil’ longer.”

Church huffs a laugh through his nose and lets Tucker pull him close. He ends up on his side, head bowed slightly so he can tuck it into the hollow of Tucker’s throat. Tucker’s hand stays on Church’s hip, his thumb to rubbing slow, small circles into his hip. They’re like a pair of parentheses, two forms curled towards each other with little space to separate them.

The morning slips by like this. Warm. Comfortable. Safe. As if the chill of the winter world couldn’t reach them through the frosty glass panes of their windows. Church is only tugged away from the somnolent daze he’s in by the smallest things. A songbird chirping its melody from the bare-branched trees. The occasional ding from their phones, ringing slightly in the silence. The quiet shhhh of a passing car’s tires on the wet pavement.

Church wishes it could be like this forever. Just his family, their love, all together in this house.

Unfortunately, he didn’t exactly have a say in how the world was to be ruled.

“We gotta get up,” he finally murmured. No response. Then a long sigh breaks the steady breathing next to him.

“Do we?” Tucker hummed, distaste evident.

“We gotta work out the stuff for Wash’s birthday, remember?” Tucker makes a weird grunting sound and falls out of the bed in his instant decision to get up.

“Fuck! I meant to get started earlier!” he exclaimed as he hopped around on one foot trying to put a sock on. Church slowly takes off his glasses to clean them on the sheets, then puts them back on the watch with amusement.

“You know,” he said casually as Tucker yants a shirt on, then curses when he realizes it’s on backward. “We need to actually think of something first before we go and buy out an entire store on my uncle's card.”

Tucker freezes with his shirt halfway over his head. “You’re an asshole,” he mutters.

Church shrugs a shoulder. “No but seriously, what are we gonna do?”

“I have an idea.”

“We’re not going to get Donut to make a giant cake so you can hide inside of it naked and jump out with some shitty-ass pickup line and a rose in your mouth.”

“I have no idea.”

Church rolls his eyes. “You’re a big fucking help.”

“Fuck off, I want this to be as good for him as you do!” Tucker snapped. Then he sighs. “But he’s always so fucking quiet—bow-chicka-bow-wow—for some shitty reason, we never know what he... Wants...” Tucker trails off and Church can practically see the lightbulb going off above his head as he turns toward Church with an enormous grin. “Dude! We could get a cat!”

“Tucker, no.”

“C’mon!” Tucker whined.

“We already have Skyler and Ari,” Church tried to reason.

”Look, we totally have a big enough house for one more, and I’ve seen Wash’s Amazon cart. Nothing but workout equipment and so- _ho_ much fucking cat shit. Not like, literal cat feces, I dunno what he’d do with that—Anyway! Look at me and tell me you haven’t noticed how often he’s been going to that humane society lately!”

“My allergies are bad enough!”

“C’mon,” he wheedled.

“Tucker,” Church sighed. But Tucker’s pulling out the kick puppy expression on him, all pouting lip and shining doe-eyes. And Church is a weak-willed son of a bitch, so he sighs again and takes off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

“Yesss!” Tucker leans down and kisses Church, hard, which promptly leads to a ten-minute long hot and heavy make-out session that abruptly ends with Tucker walking out the door with the excuse of being late to work and a smug smile that Church intends to follow through on.

“Work on finding the stuff Wash was looking at!” is the last thing he tosses over his shoulder. And then he’s gone and Church is alone.

It takes another better part of an hour to chill out after that (fucking Tucker) and to finally put on pants. Afterwards, he goes and starts a pot of coffee, then stands around on his phone while he waits for it to finish. There was no way he was doing any sort of productivity without his coffee.

A realization strikes him within a few minutes, and he opens up his texts with Tucker.

[To: Fucker] Hey, do you know wash’s amazon password

A few seconds later, he gets a response and several photos.

[From: Fucker] nah but dw i took some pics bc wash is a paranoid fuck who thinks if i get kidnapped and forced to tell my kidnapper his amazon pw hell die

img.1  
img.2  
img.3  
img.4  
img.5

[To: Fucker] Why was it necessary to have that many photos??  
[From: Fucker] there r so many fucking cat toys  
[From: Fucker] so many  
[From: Fucker] aight i gotta get goin  
[From: Fucker] ttyl <3

Church rolls his eyes, but responds in the same manner anyway. Then he opens up the pictures and mutters, “Jesus fuck, Wash,” under his breath. Tucker was right; this was just too many fucking cat toys. There are a few things like weight sets and dumbbells thrown in there too, but still. Does he really need all of these? No cat could possibly want all of this. It was a cat. They could found ways to entertain themselves simply by wrecking havoc in Church’s life.

As if on cue, he hears a meow at his feet and feels something furry wrapping itself around his leg. He sighs and pulls his laptop toward him.

As he works on looking up every single item and adding a _few_ to his own cart (seriously, Wash, they had room but they don’t have room for a ten-foot-tall cat hotel) Church’s mind wanders back to what Tucker had said earlier.

“ _He’s so quiet for some shitty reason, we never know what he wants!_ ”

Wash had been hurt by too many people in his life. From childhood, to adulthood, and then the hellish years he had in the military had become his life. It had destroyed his mind, his very concept of himself. As a result, it had taken a long time for Wash to trust them. Trust them not to leave, trust them not to hurt him, trust them to still be there when he had to go.

So it wasn’t just ‘ _some shitty reason._ ’ It was, in fact, a very serious reason that they were still fighting against after years and years of it had been pounded into Wash’s head.

Wash needed that salve, the healing touch, the soothing presence. Church wanted more than anything to be just that. Not the biting blade of bitterness and sarcasm and hatred. But it was hard. He never was the positive, flowery, maternal person. And it was clear he never was meant to be the person Wash _really_ needed.

(It happened anyway, somehow.)

Church would be lying if he said there weren’t times at the beginning where he had considered passing the role onto someone else. Times that kept him up, times that didn’t let him sleep for more than a couple of hours, times where it felt like they stopped making progress, or hell, went backwards. He hadn’t, obviously he hadn’t, but he still feels guilty for ever wanting to let it all go. How could he have let go of the laughter? The mornings where they wake up all tangled together? The warmth, the light, bubbling feeling in his chest, the... _Everything._ Even now, it toils and turns in his gut, twisting his insides with a knife.

He thinks he’s gotten better. Yes, he still occasionally spits things he doesn’t mean on accident, sometimes the empty words somehow carry themselves just a little too far, and sometimes he doesn’t know what to do when Wash’s dam of memories break and they’re both a wreck of emotions. He never said he had completely overridden that. But damn him if he isn’t trying.

Church sighs and sits back in his chair, palming his eyes from under his glasses. He loves Wash, and Tucker, too. He really, really does. Sometimes he wonders if it’s enough. If he’s enough. They’re incredible, sweet, a little (very) weird. Church is Church. That’s... cool, he guesses.

But he gets a text from Wash, reminding him to take a break from work to eat, get some water, and to take his medications, and he wonders why he ever worries. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days are a whirlwind of action that leaves Church and Tucker exhausted at the end of each one. First, they order the cat toys and spend time stashing each package somewhere inconspicuous. Church argues with Tucker that they didn’t need any other sort of _toys_ , seriously, close those tabs, Tucker. Close. The. Tabs.

Another short argument pursues that one, this time about food. It was swiftly ended with Tucker deadpanning, “Wash and I left for two days and you forgot to put water in instant ramen, set the microwave on fire, melted the bowl, and the microwave lid, and made the house smell like ass for the next three days.”

Church can’t really argue with that.

And then after _that,_ Tucker winds up spending hours agonizing over what he should make for Wash’s birthday dinner. It’s no secret that Tucker is the deity of cooking amongst the three of them, but that leaves him the dilemma of people having multiple favorite dishes. Including Wash. Church understands it. He does. But they also don’t have time to cook six different things in the span of a few hours, so he forces Tucker to pick between two dishes. Just two. And then they could go grocery shopping for the ingredients.

Church is ready to shred his recipe book by the time Tucker slams it shut and announces, “I got it.”

Church is out of his seat in an instant. “Fucking finally. Can we go now—?”

Tucker is not listening. Tucker is, in fact, doing the _opposite_ of listening. He’s in the kitchen, whipping out a carton of eggs and setting them out on the counter.

“Tucker.”

“It takes time to set!” he muttered hysterically.

“Dude.”

“It’s gotta be right! I’m not giving him sub-par lemon meringue pie! I’m not!”

“Lemon what?”

“Sh-sh-shshsh!” Tucker hissed as he meticulously started separating egg whites from the yolk.

Church sighs. “At least tell me what you picked so I can make a list of the shit we need.”

Typing out the ingredients on his phone doesn’t take long since Tucker had only picked three things; two for Wash, and one for him. Keeping it kosher and all that. He’s just glad Tucker doesn’t make it a huge deal. When he’s done, he sets his phone down and props his head up on his elbow to watch Tucker work.

It’s... He isn’t sure what other words to use besides infatuating. Tucker moves with the fluidity only a dancer could have, practically gliding as he moves about the kitchen. Even something as simple as bending down to grab something from under the counter is done with a grace Church couldn’t even dream of having.

He doesn’t realize Tucker is talking to him until he hears him ask, “Dude, what’s with the face?”

“Hm? What face?”

“The—You know.” Tucker gestures to his own visage with a hand. “The face.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“The gooey face.” Tucker’s face flickers with something like amusement. He smirks and leans forwards in the countertop on his elbows. “Don’t tell me you get off on me cooking. Or you have like, a food kink or something. Not judging, I make some pretty good shit, but still.”

Church rolls his eyes. “No food kinks in this household. I think.”

“You sure?” Tucker cocks up a dark eyebrow. “Betcha I could totally rock the maid thing, y’know? With the apron, and the—”

“I have never been surer of anything in my life.

Tucker huffs and copies Church’s eye-roll. “You’re no fun.” He grabs a dish towel and wipes his hands off. Then he tosses it aside and makes a beeline straight to Church. He takes his face in his hands, gentle but steady. He tilts his head up and kisses him square on the mouth. His lips are hot, soft, pressing just enough to make him want more, so many more descriptors at once that Church’s brain sort of short-circuits.

He’s breathless when Tucker pulls away entirely too soon. He chases after him, which makes Tucker chuckle against his lips smugly.

Church stares at him for a few seconds before clearing his throat. “Not that that wasn’t great,” he managed as he rubbed his cheek, “but what was that for?”

Tucker shrugs. “‘Cause I wanted to,” he said simply, which was just one of his versions of, “I love you,” and brushes past him.

Tucker rarely said it directly, but he did have his ways of showing his love. Some were subtle, like remembering the excessive amounts of sugar he out in his coffee, keeping the anchovies off the pizza, leaving him a plate of food when he was up late doing work. And some were like being there when his anxiety got the best of him, sitting just close enough to hold his hand and rub circles into his wrist but not too close to make him feel crowded, encouraging him when he began to doubt the things he did, simply existing as one of the shining bits of starlight of Church’s life. Beautiful. Impossible to ignore. Strong. A ball of bright joy that ignites deep within Church’s chest.

Dazed, he realizes, oh, right, Tucker was leaving. Now why was he doing that? “Wait, where are you going? I thought you said it had to set?”

“It does. But you’re also right. We need to buy some more shit for tomorrow,” Tucker explained as he pulled on his jacket. “Grab your shoes, I’ll be in the car.”

Church grins to himself and gets up to find his shoes.

* * *

 

They get home late and they’re exhausted after shopping, so they end up waiting until tomorrow to go to the shelter. They quickly discover the decision wasn’t a mistake after they get caught in a fifteen-minute long tirade from Palomo and Tucker is about ready to blow a gasket by the tome Doc arrives. Church doesn’t want to know what would have happened if they had decided to come straight here.

Doc cuts Palomo off and sends him away somewhere, then takes Church and Tucker up staircase after staircase after staircase.

“No wonder Wash likes to come here,” Church puffed as they pass a sign with a bold ‘3’ on it, “this place is a gym all in its own.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Tucker, though Church can tell he’s straining not to sound winded. Doc is entirely unbothered. But he works here and probably has to walk up and down these stairs at least twenty times a day, so it doesn’t count.

“So what is it that you guys are looking for?”

Church shrugs. “Just, whatever cat is Wash’s favorite.”

Doc stops so suddenly Tucker runs into him. “Er. Well.”

“What?” Church asked suspiciously.

“Nothing.” Doc laughs nervously and continues up the stairs. “It just... depends.”

“On what?”

“How long do you need to be here?”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Doc said again. “Um. So there’s Noodle, Eta, Stella, Eri, Melon—”

“Who names these cats?” asked Tucker. Doc keeps right on going naming cats. Church feels a little worried when he doesn’t stop after thirty seconds, but he is thoroughly horrified after an additional two minutes.

Church gawked at him for a moment. “Can we have a second?” he asked faintly.

“Sure!” said Doc as he led them into a small side hall. Church tugs Tucker away just around the corner.

“We can’t adopt all of those cats,” Tucker whispered fearfully.

“I know,” Church whispered back in the same tone, “but we have to pick one.”

“I know! But still!”

“Why didn’t we think about this,” Tucker groaned, “of course he has like, a billion favorite cats!”

Doc pops his head around the corner, making them both scream only a little bit. “Would you two like to hear about the kittens?”

“No!” they shouted.

“Just—” Church sighs and presses a hand to his temple. “Like, the fluffiest fucker you can find.”

Doc hums and taps his nose thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Still in a daze, they follow Doc through a set of swinging doors. They pass through a hall with big rooms with large glass windows. Inside are dozens of meowing cats and barking dogs and, on the occasion, chirping birds and starkly silent reptiles. It’s all a little overwhelming. Church sneezes every few seconds and Tucker indiscreetly shies away from every rodent they come across.

“Here we go!” Doc said cheerfully as they approach a door with a tint over the small window. He pinches a key from at least a dozen of identical looking ones from his lanyard and shakes away the rest. Doc opened the door a crack, immediately unleashing a cacophony of high-pitched meows and other various kitten noises. “Hopefully, these guys’ll sort of recognize you since you probably smell a _little_ like—”

“Wash?”

Church bumps into Tucker, who stopped in the middle of the doorway like he’d run into a brick wall. He blinks and looks down at the floor, where an unmistakable, scarred face is staring up at them from a sea of glowing yellow eyes.

“Er,” Wash said awkwardly. “Hello.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Church immediately demanded. His voice pitches up as he continues. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

Wash doesn’t look as initially miffed as he should be. “I come here during my break.” He holds out his hand and a sand-colored kitten pads up to him and butts its head against it. He lightly scratches it as is says, “I have forty-five minutes and it’s literally two blocks away.”

“Wh— _Seriously?_ ”

“Yes?”

Tucker immediately wheels on Doc. “Why didn’t you tell us he was here?” he hissed none-too-quietly.

Doc holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, I figured you guys knew where your boyfriend would be! It’s not my fault!”

“Speaking of which,” Wash cut in loudly, “what exactly are _you_ two doing here? I didn’t realize you were the type to come by a shelter. I would have brought you myself, you know.”

“Uh—I, I mean, we—” Tucker stammered.

“We,” Church interrupted, “wanted—to look at, uh, the, um, birds. Birds! Forrrr—”

“Junior!” Tucker exclaimed. “‘Cause like, Christmas!”

“That’s three months aw—”

“Doc, you piece of shit, we said birds, not cats! Why would you take us to the cats!”

Doc sputters. “Wh—?”

“God dammit, Doc,” Church sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “I knew you were bad, but not this bad.”

“Let’s go see the birds! That we are looking at for Junior!” Tucker announced just a bit too loudly and clearly. “Lead the way, Doc!” With that, he places his hands on Doc’s back and shunts him back through the doorway. Church smiles a too-big smile at Wash and has to stop the door from slamming shut on their way out.

Back on the other side of the door, David Washington sits on the ground, covered in cats and absolutely bewildered.

“You know they aren’t here for the birds, right?” came Carolina’s amused voice from behind him. Wash absently removes a kitten from his shoulder as it tries to nip his ear.

“Yeah,” he said quietly as he gently placed the kitten in his lap. “They aren’t subtle.”

Carolina huffs a soft laugh and crouches down next to him, picking up a Siamese by the scruff and setting it on her knee. “Wow.”

“What?”

“York was right. You really are a softie.”

Washington furrows his brow and turns to cast a bewildered look on her. “Am I being tested?”

She shakes his head. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s—It’s great, actually. God knows we need those types of people in our lives.” She sighs heavily and pats Washington on the shoulder. “I’m glad you found them.”

“I didn’t,” Wash said simply, still looking at the door even though the sound of Church and Tucker’s squabbling had faded a while ago. “They found me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/) (•ө•)♡


	3. Chapter 3

Church rocks back on his heels, puffing out his cheeks as he checks the time on his phone for the fifth time. Tucker is home early, already a flurry of movement in the kitchen. The pans on the stovetop hiss as a Tucker pokes it around with a wooden spatula, sending its gamy and somewhat sharp scent wafting through the air in clouds. Church’s mouth waters a little bit.

“Relax,” Tucker said without looking up. “He’s gonna love it. Seriously, I can’t think of a reason for him to say no.”

Church grumbles, “I mean, the surprise part of it is already ruined.”

“So?”

“What if he doesn’t actually want another cat, and he’s just pretending?”

“Wash wouldn’t do that,” Tucker calmly stated. “Look, if it’s a cat, of course he’s gonna wanna talk about it. He takes that shit seriously, like even more seriously than he takes everything else. If he really, really didn’t want us to get another one, he’d of told when we got back from the shelter. He’s not stupid, he knows why were there.”

“What if we picked the wrong cat?” After that walk-in on Wash, Doc had actually led them to the birds, where they stayed for almost an hour until they were sure Wash was gone. _Then_ they went back and looked at all the cats until they pick one particularly massive cat that insisted on staying wrapped around their shoulders like a heavy, furry scarf.

“We didn’t pick the wrong cat, Church. It’ll be fine.” Tucker’s eyes follow him as he gets up from his chair and starts pacing.

“I guess.” Church stops mid-step and checks his phone again. 4:57 pm. He keeps pacing. “What time does he get home again?”

“Five, babe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“ _Positive?_ ”

“Yes, babe.”

There’s a knock at the door. It’s exactly 4:58 pm.

“Fuck!” Church yelped, dropping his phone with a loud _thunk._

Tucker snorts and says, “I got it,” and wipes his hands off on a towel while Church scrambles. The door clicks open and in comes Wash.

“Congrats, babe, you’re older!” Tucker exclaimed the second he passes through the doorway.

“Thanks,” Wash said dryly as he shrugged off his coat. Tucker laughs again and loops his arms around Wash’s shoulders to pull him down for a kiss. Wash’s cheeks are red from the cold, and Tucker is grinning against his mouth. The sight calms Church down a little. This was—This was normal. Normal was warm, casual, familiar. Wash was home, Tucker was too. No one was pissed, or crying, or locked in the bathroom drunk off their asses. He could do this.

Wash turns toward him, so he says, “Hey,” and his voice cracks on that one word, fuck, he could not do this. “Fuck. Wash. I—I, I mean we wanted—Cat?”

“Holy shit, dude. Was that supposed to be a sentence? Like, one that can be understood by real living people?”

“Hush, Tucker,” said Wash. He sounds sort of faraway, even a little muffled. Shit, no, no, he had to calm down, this was just Wash, Jesus Christ!

He’s vaguely aware of the hands lightly touching his arms and hands. They hold him steadily, but not gripping him as if to hold him down. He focuses on them, takes breaths until he can feel his feet on the ground and his mind stops spinning like it’s on some amusement park ride.

“God dammit,” he muttered, “God fucking dammit.”

“It’s okay,” murmured Wash. “You did good, Church.”

“It was stupid!” Church hissed.

“It was not.”

“God, this is _bullshit_. Okay. Okay.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out as a harsh whoof. Wash doesn’t press him, just stands there with his hands entwined with Church’s. “Right. So. You probably already figured this out, but Tucker and I were thinking—Would you want to get—” He glances at Tucker, who nods encouragingly. Just say it, you fucking coward. “We wanted to know if you wanted to get another cat.”

Wash’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t say anything for the longest minute Church has ever experienced. Finally, he says in a deadly quiet voice, “You’re serious.”

“Hell yeah we are!” Tucker exclaimed with a grin. “Except, er, we had to pick the cat ahead of time, Doc wouldn’t let us just walk in and pick whatever we wanted.”

“That’s fine, right?” Church interjected quickly.

“Wh—Yes, it’s fine, more than fine, but—” Wash’s lips are parted in surprise, though the corners of his mouth are slowly creeping upward. “You would—You would do that?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Oh my God.” Wash lets go of Church so he can bury his face in his hands. “Yes,” he mumbled into his palms, embarrassed. “Of course I want to. Holy shit.”

“And!” Tucker suddenly exclaimed. He holds up the pan, which Church can now see is full of something that looks a little like pulled pork. “I made your favorite. With a little extra pizzazz, ‘cause you just spice up my life.”

Wash snorts as Tucker says, “I know, I know, we’re the best boyfriends ever, hold the applause,” and dramatically bends into a sweeping bow.

“We can go next weekend if you want,” said Church. “We’ve already got the fees ‘n shit sorted out so we just need to—Mmf!”

He suddenly finds himself squashed up against Wash’s chest, strong, solid arms wrapped around him. Before he has time to retaliate, Wash releases him and his lips are on Church’s a second later, pressing and firm and so quick that Church doesn’t even have time think, Whoa. He’s dazed and can still taste his smile while Wash crosses the room in two swift strides and does the same to Tucker, who drops the pan back on the stovetop like it electrocuted him and enthusiastically throws himself at Wash.

Church touches his fingertips to his mouth as Wash pulls away from Tucker with a smile that reduces his eyes to shining slits.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he said breathlessly. A small laugh bubbles up. “Really, this is—Wow.”

Tucker shoots him a look that clearly is read as I told you so. Church responds with an eloquently delivered middle finger. Wash sees it all, rolls his eyes, and takes Tucker’s wrist in hand and Church’s in the other.

“I just...” He sighs, and oh boy, here comes the emotional bit. “I didn’t expect my life to end up here. Not that I’m complaining, it’s, it’s the best thing to happen to me. Ever. Of all time. Really,” he says to Tucker’s raised eyebrows. “So, um. Yeah.”

“Smooth,” Church muttered.

“Shut up, I’m trying to be honest!” Wash lightly jostles him before huffing and bowing his head. “I’ve just gotten—How do I say this?—further, let's say, than I thought I would. I figured I was just sort of... I don’t know. Done, after getting discharged. I don’t know if I can express how grateful I am that I wasn’t. So.” Wash clears his throat. “Thank you. Both of you. For... Everything.”

They’re both too stunned to say anything immediately.

“I,” Church started intelligently. “You’re welcome?”

Tucker laughs, “It’s just a goddamn cat, Wash,” and his laughter breaks the daze and coaxes the other two into laughing with him, and as Wash presses his forehead against his shoulder, he thinks, _I’m just a lucky son of a bitch._

* * *

That night after dinner, they all curl up together on the couch together to watch one of Wash’s weird soap operas. Tucker is sprawled across Wash’s and Church’s laps, occupying one of their hands each with one of his own. Wash has his other hand lazily drawing circles on Tucker’s neck while Church cards his fingers through Wash’s hair.

It’s peaceful. The type of peace that makes you forgot there’s a world outside of this room, this room where they can all simply be together without the worries of life knocking at their doors. The type of peace that is a hazy warmth and comfort and, fuck it, _love_ , it’s almost overwhelming.

Tucker laughs at something, and Wash glances down at him with amused adoration in his eyes. What a dweeb. Except, Church knows he’s looking at Wash the same way. So he isn’t one to talk.

He isn’t quite sure when they all started dozing off, but when they wake up, the T.V. is off and the room is filled with the sound of soft snores. Church can feel a wet spot on his shoulder from where Wash is drooling on him. Gross. Admittedly a little funny since Wash always vehemently denied anything such as drooling while he slept or any other gross sleeping habits, but mostly gross.

Church grunts and sits up a bit, blinking blearily. A quick glance through the windows doesn’t provide much. It’s dark; that’s all he knows. His phone nearly blinds him when he turns it on to check the time. 2:47 in the morning. Fucking wonderful.

The steady snores next to him are suddenly interrupted by a loud snort.

“Chur’?” mumbles a low voice. Church almost loses it right there. David Washington, in his house, drooling on him in addition to snoring himself awake? It’s more likely than you’d think.

“Mornin’, Wash.” His own voice sounds like he’d swallowed a mouthful of gravel for how rough it was. “I’ve made ‘nother scientific breakthrough.”

“Mm?”

“You snore. And drool.”

“I do not. Your logic is—is—” Wash fails to stifle a stuttering yawn, “—flawed.”

“Nope. Gotta wet shirt to prove it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Church huffs and settles back against the couch. His vision is starting to clear a little bit, slowly adjusting to the dark room. He can just make out the outline of Tucker’s head, outlined white with the glow from the streetlights shining through the window. It’s tucked in at an uncomfortable looking angle directly into Church’s hip. Church carefully lifts it up, grabbing a pillow a placing it underneath Tucker’s head and setting it back down.

“We should get to the actual bed,” Wash commented a few minutes later into the silence.

“Yeah,” said Church. Neither of them makes a move to go anywhere. Eventually, Wash heaves a sigh and begins the laborious process of disentangling himself from wayward limbs. Tucker stays fast asleep the whole time. If anything, he somehow falls into a deeper sleep.

Wordlessly, Wash stands up and shakes Tucker’s shoulder. He gets a disgruntled sound in response, but no movement. Wash does it again. This time, Tucker flaps his hand at him and mumbles, “If you’re up, it’s too fuckin’ early. Le’me alone.”

“Church is up too,” said Wash.

“Great.”

“We’re just trying to move to the bed,” said Church exasperatedly.

The reaction he gets is not one he expects. Tucker practically leaps off the couch, somehow landing on his feet even though he had just been shaken awake. Church and Wash glance at each other—or at least, in each other’s general direction because it’s still dark as shit—as Tucker gathers his senses, then sprints from the room, cursing every few seconds as he stumbles and trips and runs into what sounds like every piece of furniture they own. They trail him idly down the hall as they hear a thump and the loud squeaking of their bed.

They follow him into the bedroom. Church uses his phone to shine a light over Tucker’s body. He’s flung himself into the very middle of the bed, limbs sprawled every which way. He hasn’t even bothered to crawl under the covers. And, judging by the snores already floating their way into the night, he’s gone right back to sleep.

“How does he do that?” Wash mused.

“Dunno.” Church starts to tug his shirt off, then his belt and skinny jeans. It’s a relief to not have the seams digging into his legs anymore. The sheets feel like heaven on them as he carefully moves Tucker’s arm aside and slides underneath them, all cool and silky compared to the stuffiness of the couch.

One more thing pokes the very back of his mind as he begins to drift away from reality.

“Hey, Wash.”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to read this! i hope you enjoyed reading it as i did writing it. 
> 
> this _is_ my first time ever writing a polyamorous relationship. please let me know if i made some big mistakes or did something that rubs the wrong way. just leave a comment or shoot me a message and i’ll do the best of my ability fix it! also, feel free to point out any other glaring errors since i have no beta available.

**Author's Note:**

> im [on tumblr](https://scintillating-galaxias.tumblr.com/) if you want to come talk to me!


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